


Monster Party

by karmicpunishment



Series: Turn the Lights Off|| Mutate Au [3]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Dehumanization, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt Wilbur Soot, Magic, Mild Blood, Not Canon Compliant, Pogtopia, Pre-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Self-Hatred, Techno regrets picking a pig motif :-), Technoblade Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), They do get hugs...not sure how much it helps though...., TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, hoo boy this ones a doozy, literally wilbur soot, this is just pain not gonna lie :-), winginnit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29287815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmicpunishment/pseuds/karmicpunishment
Summary: They didn't know what they'd found when they first stumbled upon the ravine. They'd called it home, dressed it up with torches and music and laughter, unaware of the magic lurking in the halls and the changes laying in wait. They wouldn't be unaware for long.orThe before and the after of Turn the Lights Off
Relationships: Niki | Nihachu & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Niki | Nihachu & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Tubbo & Tommyinnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit
Series: Turn the Lights Off|| Mutate Au [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038330
Comments: 11
Kudos: 77





	Monster Party

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel (and also prequel at the same time haha) to the other work in this series, Turn the Lights Off, so please read that before this, or don't its your choice haha.  
> this is dedicated to the Writers Block Discord and to reader Shadowonwater, who bookmarked this series asking for and reminding me it existed and how much I loved the concept
> 
> Make sure you've read the tags before reading! Enjoy :-)

They didn’t understand it at first. The first few weeks in the ravine that they’d so fondly named Pogtopia were difficult but hopeful, strained but happy. They missed their friends, missed their home but they were okay. They had food growing and warmth from the torches lining the walls and music echoing throughout the tunnels every night. They would sit and listen to Wilbur strum a song and hum a tune (never the anthem he crafted for a country he now mourns for). Three brothers, side by side, encased in walls again. These ones might not be yellow and black and built by a friend turned traitor, instead carved by the earth and delicate swings of a pickaxe but they were special all the same. 

They had no idea just how special they were. Not yet. Soon they would. Soon the evidence would crawl its way into their skin and never let go. Burrow in their minds and hold on it. For now they were happy, but everyone knows nothing ever stays, not when happiness is concerned. 

It started simple. A crackling cough and stubborn soot that wouldn’t rub off. An itch on Tommy's spine that wouldn’t go away. A pink tinge on Techno's cheeks that started to spread. They’d brushed it off, a dry chuckle from Wilbur as he quipped that maybe he should stop mining so much coal, a remark about growing pains from Tommy with a shit-eating grin on his face as he looked down on Techno, already taller than him, Techno brushing off the pink as a trick of the flickering firelight. 

But it spread and spread and spread and it wouldn’t stop. It grabbed ahold of them, of their bodies and minds and twisted until they were unrecognizable. Until they were more monster than man. More creatures belonging to the forest or the caves than to the city they left behind.    
  


They understood it now. Something dark and twisted lived in these tunnels they had hastily called home. The wind blew an ominous tune but they had been too blind to see the message. They still missed their friends, their homes, but there was more to miss now. For Wilbur, his voice, his breath, the feelings that came with living. For now he could only choke and wheeze and whisper, fingers and skin long gone numb as the black crawled it way up his arms and legs, greedily grasping any skin it could reach and  _ never  _ letting go. He couldn’t feel, losing himself into the grayscale he’d become. For Tommy, his body, his sharp tongue, his hands. The wings had tore their way out of his back, through skin and bone and sinew, no gentleness involved. He was unbalanced for days, blood loss and two new limbs warring against his control. His voice was more trills and caws than words these days, his fingers talons instead of nails, his instincts to claw and screech growing by the day. He couldn’t control himself, losing himself into the call of the sky and the instincts growing in his chest by the day. For Techno, his mind, his wit, his long cultivated control. The mask he’d taken to wearing now mocked him, as the pink spread over his skin and the tusks broke through the surface, no ease or natural growth involved. Blood staining his fingers was a familiar sight but never like this. Not that his fingers were really fingers anymore, changing to some mockery of a pig's hooves. He couldn’t hold an axe, couldn’t hoe his crops. But the worst was his mind. He could feel himself slipping away more and more as the voices grew louder and louder and his instincts changing until he was more animal than human. 

The ravine was far from a home now, a stone prison they couldn’t (wouldn’t) leave. Where would they go? To the world above? To be hunted and hailed as monsters? They’d rather waste away down here. The food had stopped growing, rotting away from whatever poisoned the air and water (and them) in this place they’d found, deep underground. It didn’t matter, none of them could farm anyway. Hands turned to hooves or talons or simply too numb to move. The torches had long gone out, the chill permeating in their bones but they preferred it this way. The less they had to see of themselves, or the monsters that had invaded their skin, the better. There was no more music echoing the halls anymore, guitar long abandoned, strings snapped and wood rotting. Wilbur's voice had been the first thing to be lost to the ash and his fingers had gone numb not long after. The only melodies that lived in these halls now were broken bird song from a broken boy. The walls were not comforting any longer, a chokehold rather than a hug, but they stayed in their embrace all the same. Where else would they go? 

No where else to go for monsters like them. 

Tommy used to love colors. Used to use the entire pack of crayons for each picture, used to combine clothes from his closet that didn’t match but clashed in ways that made him smile, used to dye every dog he had collars a different color everyday. His favorite color used to be red, the color of one brother's cloak and the other brother's favorite guitar pick. The color of his favorite shirt and their flag. The color of redstone dust on Tubbo's hands as he showed him a new project and the color of the sprinkles on top of Niki’s cakes. Or at least that's what red used to be, back when colors were comforting. Now red was only blood. Blood from an arrow wound in the water. Blood from a backstab flowing onto obsidian. Blood staining a blue coat as two brothers ran from the home they built, the home they were thrown out of. But even then he didn’t mind red, for it was still the color of their campfire flames and Techno’s cloak and Wilbur’s new beanie. But the fires were out and Techno's cloak was discarded and Wilbur's beanie was covered in gray. And only blood remained. Blood soaking through his shirt as his back tore itself to pieces. Blood spilling as talons ripped through his finger tips. Blood from self-inflicted wounds as he clutched at his ears as the world grew too loud. And now Tommy hated red. There was red everywhere he looked. His new feathers, that should be bright and colorful, were messy and blood soaked, more way to clean then. Wilbur's hands were more likely to dirty them further (and not like he could move them much anymore anyway). Techno's hands were fusing into hooves, a horrifying sit that deprived him of any of his former abilities. And Tommy's own hands were more made of talons than fingers and oh-so-soaked in blood. So much blood. So his feathers sat un-preened and uncleaned, but still the brightest thing in these dark halls. He wished they weren’t. He wished he couldn’t see anything at all. Darkness would be better than the red staining his vision. 

Technoblade hated losing control. He had honed his control over the years, reigned in voices that raged for blood, took his instincts that screamed of a threat around every corner and utilized it for protection. He worked day in and day out to wrangle his emotions, to put up a mask even better than the one he used to wear. He was use to his mind being not his own so he made sure his body was completely his. Now that was all gone. All ripped away. His body had turned against, skin gone pink and rough, tusks pushing through his skin. His senses had heightened, a fact he might’ve enjoyed if it wasn’t for the havoc the rest of him was in. His hands and feet were hooves, a taunt from the heavens.  _ See the Blood G-d hold a sword now! See the Champion farm his beloved potatoes!  _ He found it harder to stand straight, his spine wanting to curve him to all fours. It seemed the universe was laughing at him, even more than the mocking laughs that echoed in his mind. The Immortal Blade, the one who never dies, made to be more animal than human. His crown had fallen off days ago. He nearly cried when he found he could no longer pick it up. But holding back tears was one of the last things he could control about himself and he would be damned if he gave more fuel to the voices fire. His nerves were on end all the time, even the sound of his brothers (were they even his brothers anymore) haunting the hollowed halls enough to send his heart racing and blood rushing. He was scared. He hadn’t been scared in so long. He hated it. More than the fear, he had decided, he hated the anger. He’d felt anger before, been plagued with lava in his veins for years, but he’d taught himself to control it. Now it had broken through, an animals instincts conquering his honed mind. The voices shrieked with laughter as his own mind screamed about  _ Territory!  _ And  _ Pack!  _ And all the more terms better served for a rabid animal than him. Or who he used to be. His body was wrong and his mind was fighting and  _ Technoblade never dies _ , but maybe this time, he loses. 

  
Wilbur watches his brothers suffer- bones cracking and shifting, skin splitting and teeth sharpening. They grow more monstrous by the second, their shadows on the wall stretching until they no longer look like their own. He aches for them, each cry and wail and call and sob a stab at his heart, but he can’t help but feel a dim burn of jealousy alight in his chest. He might look the most human of them all, but he doesn't feel it. He looks down at his fingers, fully black and numb, the lack of sensation crawling up his arms with each passing moment. His legs were turning an ashen gray, his limbs stiffening with each hour tolling by. At least they can still feel. Is a person still a person when their heart is gone? He figures he’ll know soon enough. A tear carves a groove down his cheek but he can’t feel it, not anymore. His skin has long gone numb, and he fears his heart will soon follow. He coughs more than he breathes, the only color on his person being the sticky red that drips from his blackened lips. He can feel it dry there, a mockery of the memory of the time he let Niki do his makeup, of a happier time. He simply can’t muster the ability to move his arms enough to wipe it away. He’s leaving more and more dust behind wherever he goes and thinks he might just fall apart at the seams soon enough. Just crumple to bits in his bed, the white sheets stained a permanent gray. Maybe he’ll be carried away by the limited wind that found its way down the Ravine. Maybe he’d stay there forever, a forgotten pile, a forgotten person. Maybe death will feel like something to him. Or maybe he’ll feel nothing at all as he goes. He can’t find it in himself to care. Huh. Maybe he’s lost his heart already. 

So the three stayed locked away, bleeding, changing, crumbling, wasting away in their resting place, this cursed cavern they’d been unlucky enough to stumble on. Alone. Deep in the woods, deep underground, deep in the dark. Until someone (or two someone's) can a-knocking on their door (or the dirt they piled up against the entrance to the cave, same difference). Two Little Reds trying to find Grandma's house, only to stumble into the Wolf, all ready for its meal. Not satisfied with the three souls it’d claimed already, always looking for more. But its three prey, already broken, crept up to the door. Unsure and unsteady, but a hope fluttering their chests, Pandora's final gift still resides in them, as broken as they were. And so they listened to their friends, dug out the doorway, and saw the sun. 

The two friends walked into the dark, the sun at their backs, and followed their friends, changed as they were, into the cave.  _ And they spent the night.  _

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! The second part will be up in the next week or so :-)  
> be ready for pain :-)  
> please comment and kudos if you enjoyed!! 
> 
> if you want to yell at (or with me) in a different setting, come join the writers block discord! its a great place for writers and readers to talk together (also to scream about ideas and current streams)  
> https://discord.gg/w9CwSK26mm


End file.
